I'm Not A Robot
by RavenNevermore21
Summary: A series of random, most likely quite lengthy, drabbles. Some will be before The Fall and others after, this will contain a multitude of pairings but I'll tell you when it's set and who with at the start of each  :  Please R&R and comment with suggestions
1. What A Prick 1

_**I Am Not A Robot…  
>~~~~~oOo~~~~~ <strong>_

_A series of random, most likely quite lengthy, drabbles that just pop into my head. The title refers to Sherlock being **'high functioning sociopath' **and how he is prone to emotions no matter how he hides them (I may explore this theme in later drabbles which could call for a pack of tissues). Some will be before The Fall for ease and others will be after, this will contain a multitude of pairings but I'll tell you when it's set and who with at the start of each (: This is my first set of drabbles so y'know, just have fun with them. Oh, and I won't be able to update very regularly due to exams and sports but hopefully you'll understand (:_

_Title: _What A Prick…

_Set: _Pre-Fall  
><em>Pairings: <em>None, but could be interpreted as Lestrade/Sherlock  
><em>Style: <em>Fluff / Crack  
><em>Words: <em>403  
><em><strong>Dedicated to:<strong> **DakotaBeor**, __I managed to dream this up in an uneventful PE lesson with her help 3_

Ah, there was nothing like a biting cold winter morning and a double homicide to get Sherlock bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Can we go and look and the bodies yet?" John however did not like the cold and spoke through chattering teeth, "It's not that I want to see them but it is bloody freezing out here Sherlock!"

Taking pity on his freezing friend Sherlock ducked inside the door and began to inspect the two bodies in the hallway.

Just as he was intensifying his deductions about the two seemingly unrelated men he felt a presence behind him. Before he could turn two large hands clamped down on his shoulders, as he was about to shout at the intruder they began to rub and press their hands through his thick coat and push into his shoulders. A blush crossed his face as he realised how pleasing he found the simple motion. Spinning he turned to confront his secret masseur.

"Lestrade! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sherlock deemed it best to hide his confusion with anger.

"What? It's what all the boxers do. It helps to psyche them up, I thought this'd help seeing as it was a difficult case even by your standards," Lestrade looked suspiciously innocent.

Sherlock decided to turn and face the bodies again for once unsure of how to retort. And suddenly it hit – hard.

"Wait, do that again," he snapped at Lestrade.

Replacing his hands he resumed the soothing circles on Sherlock's shoulders continuing until the detective's exclamation made him jump.

"That's it! Oh, that was clever, and we'd never have known. Well done Lestrade, you actually helped solve a case! The men's faces, they're both drooping slightly on the left side."

"A stroke," John questioned, confused because both men were far to you for that to be believable.

"No the killer used a much more precise and reliable method. Both men have absolutely no tension in their necks yet their expensive suits suggest high-end city jobs; the only explanation? Both men have a masseur. The method of killing? Simple. Acupuncture is used in relation to massaging, it is also fatal if administered incorrectly, yet almost untraceable. Thank you Lestrade."

Sherlock nodded and ran out the door chasing leads to a rouge masseur at a high end salon whilst everyone stood dumbstruck.

Lestrade turned to John, "Should I do that more often then?"


	2. That Sounds Strangely Familiar 2

_Title: _That Sounds Strangely Familiar…

_Set: _Post-Fall  
><em>Pairings: <em>None  
><em>Style: <em>Crack, just crack...  
><em>Words: <em>288  
><em>Dedicated to: <em>A good friend who helped plant the seeds of an idea in my head; Thanks **Jack.**

Sherlock was pacing… More so than usual John noticed from his position in his favourite armchair of 221b Baker Street. It's not that he minded, he relished in the unexpected return of his supposedly dead friend, yet his new mood baffled him.

"She-" he was unable to finish his sentence before the detective interrupted him.

"I am thinking John."

"Yes but that's not how you usually think," he mumbled it to himself yet Sherlock still heard.

"Ah, see I knew I'd been a good influence on you!" Allowing a rare grin to slip onto his face he continued, "I, John, am failing to create an alias for myself. Strange I must admit, but all the same."

"Well you'd need something that suits you, something posh yet unusual," John happily offered.

"Is that how you see me John? Posh and unusual? I merely have two aspects of my personality; I never knew I was so lacking!"

John shook his head, "Look why don't we start off with the forename? How about Benedict, that's a nice name, not many people have it but it suggests a cultured upbringing."

Sherlock nodded his head solemnly agreeing with his friend's suggestion; leaping into action he ran to their small kitchen and ripped open the fridge door.

"Inspiration," he yelled in answer to John's confusion. Closing his eyes he thrust in his hand and withdrew his inspiration.

"A-A cucumber," John stuttered.

Sherlock's eyes were fixed on the table in front of him which supported his new localised Batch Process lab.

Then his eyes shone, "Cucumber and batch. I've got it! Cumberbatch! Benedict Cumberbatch!"

"That sounds strangely familiar," John mused to himself and watched as Sherlock went off to caress the strings of his violin.


	3. Would You Like A Ham With That? 3

_Title: _Would You Like A Ham With That?

_Set: _Pre-Fall_  
>Pairings:<em> Sherlock/John_  
>Style:<em> Fluff/Crime_  
>Words:<em> 326  
><em>Dedicated to:<em> My good friend Alex a.k.a. **Boris. **He'll be joining here soon with his own AU Sherlock fic :D

Back at the crime scene once again and John could see Sherlock clearly relishing in Lestrade's attention. Leaving him standing quite awkwardly on the side-lines.

Unbeknownst to John, Sherlock had his attention focused on his flatmate, and his ego hit new highs when he saw the jealous twitch in John's jaw. Sherlock decided it was time to include John in the case properly.

"Cause of death John?" Sherlock smirked.

Crouching down John inspected the body – in turn giving Sherlock the perfect view of his backside – reaching a conclusion he gave Sherlock his diagnosis, "Um, he was hit on the back of the head with a very large, blunt object. It's an unusual murder weapon," resuming his previous position he waited for answers – Sherlock was not about to give any – so he continued, "The murder weapon would have been very difficult to dispose of, most likely to be disposed of in a nearby skip?"

Sherlock smiled appreciatively, "Close but not quite. The murder weapon was almost completely disposed of just over an hour after the incident. What can you smell in the air?"

"Cooked ham?"

"Exactly," Sherlock exploded, "It's clear the victim was hit in the back of the head with a frozen ham! The skull collapsed on impact puncturing the brain and killing them instantly. The fact that the killer cooked the ham suggests that they were either a family member or a resident at this house. That's enough for you to be going on Lestrade. C'mon John let's go home."

John arrived at the flat first, Sherlock needed his special 'Thinking cab' he didn't mind though it meant he got a few moments alone to read his favourite book, '_Broadway Mu-_

Sherlock crashed through the door a plastic bag in hand and a large grin on his face, "John, I'm home! Oh, and I've brought dinner!"

The pair fell about the room laughing tears beading in their eyes as Sherlock pulled out a cooked ham.


	4. Grave Expectations 4

_**Okay, this is me warning you. A pretty depressing drabble. This almost brought my best friend DakotaBeor to tears so... Y'know, Kleenex to hand... I may continue this on in latter drabbles (: I apologise for my laggy uploading /: Forgive me?**_

**~~~oOo~~~**

_Title: _Grave Expectations

_Set: _Post-Fall_  
>Pairings:<em> Sherlock/Charley_  
>Style:<em> Angst/Sad/Depressing/Oh, did I mention angst?  
><em>Words: <em>387  
><em>Dedicated to: <em>DakotaBeor seeing as it almost made her cry... ((Don't worry MagicWhispers, I've got a special one coming up for you!))

"You told me once," John cleared his throat to stop it from breaking with emotion, "That you weren't a hero. Um, there were times I didn't even think you were human – but let me tell you this," John paused in an attempt to withhold his tears, "You were the best man, and the most human, human being that I have ever know and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. So, there," The Doctor placed his hand on the headstone lightly, "I was so alone, and I owe you so much," John waited a moment longer then turned to stride away quickly but spun around changing his mind, "No, please. There's just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle Sherlock, for me. Don't. Be," and finally his voice cracked from grievance, "Dead. Would you do – just for me, just stop it. Stop _this,_" John Watson crumpled, a few beady tears trickled down either cheek and he brusquely brushed them away after sniffing loudly. Regaining his composure he straightened himself and walked away from the grave as restrained and orderly as he was taught in his army days.

Sherlock stood in the shadows of some grand tomb, in the distance he heard a twig snap. All his mind could do was numbly relate the sound to that of his heart snapping in two at John's heartfelt speech and torn expression. Now as a rule Sherlock did not feel emotions – he was a high function sociopath of course – however, this did not mean he didn't feel them, he would just rather silence or ignore them. Yet Sherlock found the door to his emotions being flung open by his flatmate, and that is why he had to die.

Maybe his death would force him away from the doctor, safely slamming and locking the door shut. But lo, the one problem the great consulting detective could not defeat or solve – even after he cheated death – was that of his first and closest friend.

Ever since Sherlock had met John that first day in the labs he felt a certain tugging at his gut, a magnetic pull. Yet he ignored this and after one set of brief deductions he felt he knew all he needed to about the ex-army doctor. Oh how he was wrong.


End file.
